


Collared

by Vom_Marlowe



Category: Weiß Kreuz
Genre: Collars, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-05-07
Updated: 2007-05-21
Packaged: 2017-10-22 22:08:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/243091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vom_Marlowe/pseuds/Vom_Marlowe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Because life is better with collar!fic.  A very happy birthday for Yoji, ahem.</p><p>Written in a vaguely canonish timeline; Ayachan is awake, they're still assassins, etc.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written and posted at my LJ in 2007.

Aya gritted his teeth as he tried to tune out Yoji flirting with his latest fuck toy. 

“But Yo-hji,” she whined, “when’s your birthday?”

Yoji leaned over the register’s counter and grinned at her.  “With a sweet thing like you around, every day’s my birthday, sugar.”

“But if I knew your birthday, I could do something special, you know, like dress up!”  She looked up at him from beneath heavily mascarad lashes. 

“You always look great, sugar.”  Yoji brushed a three for a dollar carnation against her cheek.  The girl giggled.  Probably thought it was special.  Aya was just glad Yoji was using the aging stock, and not the good flowers. 

“But wouldn’t you like something special?”  She batted her lashes. 

Yoji leaned over further, probably to make another cute comment.  The girl’s bored best friend looked at the two of them.  “Marcy, he’d rather have the redhead in some leather.  You’re outclassed.  Come on.  We’re late.”

The girl whirled to her friend.  “He would NOT.  He’s not gay.”

Yoji shook his head, but his smile was stiff.  “Ladies,” he started.

Aya snorted to himself.  In sixty seconds, he would be done with the front register inventory and he could retreat to his greenhouse to pot out the Swedish ivy.  It was nearly Boss’s day and they’d need more stock.  He counted out the remaining on sale carnations.  Six white with pink frills.

The best friend, who had clearly reached her limit of flirting for the day, put her hands on her hips.  “Marcy.  Let’s go.”

“Not until I finish talking with Yoji.  You can wait, Brook.”  She smiled up through her gummy lashes again.  “Yoji,” she whined. 

Aya pinched his nose.  Fourteen plain white carnations.  Five yellow carnations.  He plucked two scraggly yellows out of the bucket.  Make that three. 

“I’ll see you for dinner Saturday, sugar?”  Yoji’s honied charm was back full-force. 

“Oh Yoji,” the girl moaned. 

They always moaned.  Idiots.  Aya plucked out three battered pink carnations and tossed them in the wastebucket.  Seven pink ones left.  He marked it on his clipboard. 

“See, you’ll see him Saturday.”  The best friend reached out and grabbed her friend by the elbow.  “Can we go NOW?”

“Oh, fine.”  The girl blew kisses all the way to the door.

Aya recorded counts of three more flowers (seven pink alstrumeria, one violet alstrumeria—restock those--two yellow roses),  while Yoji presumably watched them leave the shop. 

“She’s right you know.”

“What?”  Aya looked up from his clipboard and frowned.  “Who’s right?”

“Brook.”

“Who is Brook?”  Six peach Gerbera daisies, selling well, eight hot pink Gerberas, four peach sunburst—

“Earth to Aya.”  Yoji waved his hand around the shop.  Aya looked around.  The shop was empty.  “Girl with the glasses, five foot two, gray sweater, sensible shoes?”

The fuckbuddy’s friend?  Aya looked around again.  Right about what? 

Yoji sighed and leaned against the counter. 

“Kudoh, must you make these awful Iris and red rose bouquets?”  The bloody red of the rose positively throbbed against the Iris’ purple. 

“Yes, I must, Aya.  They sell like crazy.”

Aya sighed and counted the remainder.  Four. 

“There were twelve this morning,” Yoji said smugly.

Well, that was respectable sell-through.  Aya glared at the offending flowers.  “Gaudy.”

“Offending your delicate floral sensibilities?”  Yoji slung his arm around him and grinned cheekily. 

Aya wished to hell that Yoji wouldn’t flirt with him.  It was so damn distracting.  He always lost count of things and had to start over.  “Kudoh, I’m working here.”

“Yeah, yeah.”  But Yoji just leaned closer.  “She was so right.”

Aya slapped his clipboard down on the counter.  “That’s it.  You do inventory today.”

Soft lips nuzzled at his earring.  Aya jerked away.  Yoji was always doing this and it drove him nuts.  He flirted and teased and caressed and petted and Aya just was not a touchy feely person.  He knew damn well Yoji didn’t mean to stir him up, it was just Yoji’s way of talking to people, being near them.  He had to touch positively everybody, Aya included. 

Yoji breathed into his ear.  “Weren’t you listening?” 

“To what?  I never pay any attention to—”

Yoji just nuzzled closer, teeth tugging on the earring.  Aya wanted to rip his head away, but he didn’t want the earring pulled out.  And those lips were making it hard to think.  How many tulips had he counted?  Oh god.  Yoji’s teeth nibbled right *there*.  Did they even have any tulips?

“Oh yeah,” Yoji murmured around the earring.  “She was so right.” 

Aya felt a little dizzy.  He felt hands on his hips, tugging him backwards.  He leaned back, just a little.  “Right about what?”

Yoji let go of his earring—finally—Aya opened his eyes, tried to focus.  “She was right about what I want for my birthday.”

Aya blinked.  He felt Yoji step back, so he turned around.  What Yoji wanted for his birthday.  Right.  Aya picked up the clipboard. 

"Mmm, maybe corduvan.   And rolled leather, so your neck won’t get too sore, hmm?”




Aya dropped the clipboard. 

Yoji smiled until the lines around his eyes crinkled. 

Aya bent and retrieved the clipboard.  He hated this teasing, flirting Yoji.  It was so much easier when they were on assignment together.  He trusted the blond to have his back—he even trusted him to have his sister’s back.  But the casual-world Yoji pissed him off.  Fake teasing, games, anything to set him off.  He closed his eyes. 

“Right,” Aya said.  “I finished up to the daisies, so if you could—“

Then Yoji moved.  Sometimes Aya forgot that the sweet talking pretty boy façade hid the real Yoji.  Yoji was in close, too close to shove away, too close to hit, and then flush against him.  Aya backed up as far as he could. 

Green eyes met his.  They didn’t glimmer with sunny smiles and cheerful teasing.  They were the grass-green calm Aya associated with messy deaths at those gold fingers.  Aya shivered. 

“Oh yes.  Rolled leather.  And a lovely leash to go with it, small clip, and, mm, polished brass tag.” 

“Kudoh—“

“Mm-hm,” Yoji said, “exactly.  Property of Kudoh Yoji, Reward offered if found, and my cell number.”

Aya stared at him. 

“You know, I saw a lovely buffalo leather collar the other day.”  Yoji stroked one gold hand down Aya’s jaw.  “Thought of you.  The leather’s so dark brown it’s almost black.  Silver accents.  Soft, but very strong.”

The shop door chimed and Aya flinched.  Yoji stood there, unmoving.  “That’s what I want for my birthday, baby.”

Then he glided away to help the customer pick out a get well bouquet. 

Aya grabbed his clipboard and fled.  Fuck the inventory. 


	2. Chapter Two

Continued warnings for writing to amuse myself, etc.  This part almost has a plot.  Still very much Y/A.  Writing this is my reward for toning, in case you all couldn't tell.  This bit takes place directly after the first, and is Yoji POV.

That night, the mission went sour about two seconds after Aya dispatched the target.  Yoji stared in horror as a wall of security guards poured through the double doors of the chem lab. 

His beloved idiot charged them, of course.  The first guard fell to the katana before he even got his gun up. 

Yoji eeped silently and dashed after him. His boots skidded in the target’s blood—the katana was so messy—and he went down on one knee.  He threw wire and a bunch of the guards tripped, feet impossibly tangled.  Yoji surged back to his feet.

Aya whirled in a blur of katana and blood.  Guards fell, but more kept pouring through the door.  An ugly pile of bodies surrounded him. 

“Plan B!”

He dodged in between two stupid, fucking useless rentacops, kicked out and toppled them in a thud of khaki uniform.  Just a few more feet.

Yoji felt the hit to his leg and stumbled.  Fuck, fuck, fuck.  He slammed into the wall, half slid, but his gloved hand caught on the panic-bar and held.  He wrenched it once, hard.  Blue lights flashed, alarms wailed, and Yoji collapsed.  “Go me,” he whispered. 

*

He woke up and stared at the ceiling.  He felt that peculiar dizzy and queasy combination that meant the good drugs.  What happened?

“You were shot.”

“Aya?”

“Hn.”

Yoji turned his head.  And there he was, Mr. Cranky himself, curled up in Yoji’s best chair, reading something.  Was he dreaming?

Aya sighed.  “You’re not dreaming, Yoji.  Just go back to sleep.”

Yoji closed his eyes.  Okay. 

*

When he woke up again, his leg hurt like hell and he had to pee.  Aya was still curled up in the chair, but he seemed to be wearing a different shirt.  Had Yoji dreamed the last bit?  He struggled up on his elbows. 

Aya glared at him.  “Go back to sleep.”

“Gotta pee.” 

Aya sighed and helped him out of the bed.  Yoji gingerly put weight on the leg.  “Fuck, that hurts.”

Aya didn’t say anything, but he felt Aya’s arm around his waist tighten.  Good old Aya.  Always reliable when it came to a fight, always reliable when it came to an injury.  He closed his eyes. 

Aya helped him to the bathroom, helped him brush his teeth, helped him back to bed.  Yoji didn’t want to ask for help with his hair, but when Aya got out the easy rinse shampoo, Yoji didn’t argue.  He just let Aya clean it and comb it out.  There was soup, and tea, and eventually more pills.  Around and around for what felt like weeks, but was only days.  Omi came to visit, sometimes, brimming with good cheer and fashion magazines, crossword puzzles, and gum.  Ken dropped off a portable DVD player and some snacks.  Aya remained curled up in the chair the whole time.  Yoji quit asking him if he was getting a bad back from sleeping in it.  You couldn’t talk Aya out of anything.  Or into anything. 

Two days later, Kritiker’s pet doctor pronounced him fit enough to resume outpatient PT, surveillance, and floristing.  Bloody perfect.  Aya vanished from his room as though he’d never been there. 

From time to time, Yoji sniffed the chair, just to remind himself that he hadn’t hallucinated the whole thing.  Aya’s scent lingered, just a little.  Sword oil, line dried clothes, tea, and Aya-essence. 

*

The first night after Yoji went back to work, Omi made pancakes.  They all sat around the table, inhaling them with too much butter and real syrup while Omi stood at the stove, cooking more.  The kid was as happy as Yoji’d seen him in days.  He loved these little domestic rituals.  Aya ate silently and carefully, each bite chewed thoroughly, just the right amount of butter on each pancake.  Yoji was amused to see that Aya death-glared Ken into not taking the last of the stack.  His amusement faded when Aya slid the pancakes onto Yoji’s plate. 

Yoji stared at him but Aya just went back to eating. 

Omi dropped another fresh stack on the table.  “Yoji!” 

Yoji grunted, his mouth full of pancakes. 

“I hope these are allright!”

Yoji swallowed.  “They’re great.”

Omi rubbed his hands.  “I did want to get some candles, but then there was a rush on bouquets and I ran out of time.”

“Candles?”

“Yes!  Of course!  For your birthday.”

Yoji blinked. 

“You were—you know—“ Omi shrugged the Weiss shrug indicating suffering greivous bodily harm.  “So I decided we’d celebrate after you felt better.  Okay?”

“Thanks, Omi.”

“How’s the leg?” Ken asked.

Yoji poured on more maple syrup.  “Not bad.”

“You’re walking okay.”

“Yeah.” 

Aya stood and put his plate in the dishwasher.  Yoji watched him leave.  He supposed getting a stack of pancakes rescued from iminent Ken death was as good a present as he was going to get. 

Yoji spent a comfortable half hour eating too much and bitching about football with Ken.  Omi bustled around, happy as could be, fixing extra servings and washing up.  Finally, Yoji headed upstairs.  It hadn’t been bad, as makeshift birthdays went.  He took the stairs slow, putting both feet on the step.  He hated that part of leg wounds.  Fucking guns.  Someday Kritiker would let them carry their own.  Yeah, right. 

He opened the door to his bedroom and froze. 

There, silhouetted against the light of his desk lamp, was Aya.  An Aya who was struggling with something in his hands.  “Yoji!”  He tucked his hands behind his back. 

 


	3. Chapter Three

“Aya,” Yoji said slowly. 

“You were supposed to take longer at dinner.”  He glared a full-on glare. 

Yoji glanced around the room.  He spied a small cardboard box.  SitStay, it proclaimed in cheerful red letters.  It had paw prints all over it.  What in the world?  Aya kicked it under the bed. 

Speaking of Aya…  Yoji leaned forward and sniffed discretely.  Yes, that was definitely cologne.  Or aftershave.  The garnet eartails fell in long elegant waves down Aya’s chest.  They curled just a little at the ends, the way they did when freshly washed.  Yoji didn’t recognize the sweater Aya was wearing.  It was a lovely shade of violet—very dark, but pretty—and unlike Aya’s usual turtleneck, this one had a wide, open neck. 

He still couldn’t see what Aya held behind his back and the box had offered no clues.  “What have you got there?” Yoji asked.

Aya just growled. 

Positively mild response from Aya.  Well, what the hell.  His curiosity was killing him.  Yoji feinted left, moved right, and grabbed the thing from Aya’s hand.  Of course, he got an elbow in the gut, but that was alright. 

Yoji looked down at his prize.  It was a length of leather.  Five feet, such a dark, smoky brown it was almost black.  Was this a new weapon?  That would be very Aya.  Happy birthday Yoji, have a new and more efficient way to kill people.  No…Yoji ran it through his fingers.  It had a clasp at one end and—oh my god.  A leash. 

Yoji looked at Aya, who was staring at the carpet.  Yoji pointed a finger at him.  “You, don’t go anywhere.”  Then he toed the box out from under the bed.  Nestled among crumpled newspaper and an advert for dog treats was, in fact, a matching collar.  Yoji tugged it out of its packaging.  Rolled leather, silver clasps.  Yoji tested it with his hands.  Very strong.  Quite beautiful.  His stomach was pitching and rolling. 

Aya was still death-glaring the carpet. 

“Very nearly perfect,” Yoji said. 

“Very nearly?!”  Aya growled.

“Well, yes.”  Yoji glided forward and Aya stepped back until his knees hit the bed.  He sat down.  Oh yeah, this was gonna be Yoji’s best birthday *ever*.  “It’s missing the best part.”

Yoji unclasped the collar and slid it around Aya’s neck.  Aya blushed.  Ha. 

Yoji brushed the eartail back so he could get closer, nibbled gently at that perfect ear.  “Mm-hm.  The best part.  Where’s my tag, Aya?”

Aya’s eyes had drifted shut.  They flew open.  “What?”

“The tag, Aya.”  Yoji leaned in and clipped the leash to the collar, gave a gentle tug, watched Aya’s blush deepen.  “The tag that says you’re mine.  Mine and no one else’s.  Where is it?”

Aya just stared at him,  mouth open and panting a little. 

Yoji climbed onto Aya’s lap, wrapped the leash around his wrist and tugged, just because he could.  Aya leaned up into his kiss, and Yoji devoured his mouth.  When they were both panting, Yoji pulled back a little, toying with the leather in his hand.  “Where is it?”

“It’s—I thought you just wanted—I mean—“

Yoji used the leash to guide Aya to lay all the way down on the bed.  Yoji nipped at the collar, licked the skin under it, and heard Aya whimper.  “You thought I just wanted a taste of something different, hm?”

“Yes.”  Aya’s neck arched under Yoji’s teeth.  “I thought—you like—necks—and—“

“Mmm.  Yes, I do.”  Yoji bit down hard on Aya’s collarbone.  “But I wasn’t gaming you in the shop, baby.”

“No, I knew you were—“Aya gasped as Yoji’s hand slid under the waistband of Aya’s sensible black jeans.  “Serious about the bit, with the, ng.”

“Off.” 

There was a brief moment of confusion while Aya tried to take off his sweater, while laying down, under Yoji, and being on a leash.  Aya’s hand went for the clasp to undo the leash, and Yoji batted his hand away.  “Leave it.”  Yoji slipped the end of the leash under the sweater’s collar and took off the sweater himself.  The leash was not coming off, oh no, not even to get undressed. 

Aya’s pale skin glowed under Yoji’s desk lamp.  He had definitely put on cologne and his skin had that just showered feel when Yoji ran his hands over it.  God, he couldn’t resist.  He leaned down and bit at Aya’s dusky rose nipples.  He got a gratifying groan. 

Yoji brushed the handle of the leash against Aya’s mouth and Aya arched into it.  “Fucking gorgeous,” Yoji murmured.  “But I want my birthday present.”  He nipped at Aya’s neck. 

Aya twisted and thrashed under his kisses and bites.  Yoji put his hands to good use and tugged, carressed, stroked, and petted.  He used the handle of the leash, stroked Aya’s belly and down lower, undid the jeans and tugged them off.  When he stroked Aya’s hard cock with the leather, Aya moaned.  Yoji let his fingers trail over the weeping head.  Aya was nice and wide, not too long, perfect as the rest of him.  Yoji wanted to taste that plum-red head, lick that soft skin, but it would have to wait. 

Yoji sat up.  “Now, Aya.”

Aya gazed at him, dazed and panting.  Such a beautiful sight.  Yoji knew Aya’d be amazing in bed, but knowing and getting to have it were two different things.  Yoji almost dove back into that expanse of creamy skin and panting mouth.  But that wouldn’t get him what he really wanted. 

He tugged on the leash once, hard.  Aya arched his neck.  Glorious. 

Yoji had never been good at self-denial.  It was so hard not to rip his own clothes off and fuck Aya senseless. 

He kept his brain firmly focused on the end goal and leaned close.  “My tag, Aya.  Where is it?”

Aya’s eyes were half-lidded.  “I didn’t bring it with me.”

“But you did buy one, didn’t you?”  Yoji stroked Aya’s jaw, drew his long fingers through that red hair.  “Didn’t you, Aya?”

“Yes,” Aya whispered.

“Mm-hm, and where is it?”  Yoji trailed the leash above Aya’s head.  He looked into Aya’s eyes and made sure Aya was watching when he tied the leash to the headboard. 

“My room,” Aya said.  “Nightstand.”

Yoji smiled.  He kissed Aya once, thouroughly, and got off the bed.  Holy hell, could he leave Aya like that?  Long muscled limbs stretched out for his pleasure, smoky black collar highlighting that perfect neck, tied—for him—to the bed.  “Stay,” Yoji growled. 

He slipped out the door, and was down the hall to Aya’s room as fast as his aching leg would take him.  He fumbled open Aya’s nightstand.  Uh-huh.  Nestled under the complete works of Rumi, Yoji found a tube of lube, a couple toys, and a small black jewelry box.  Bingo. 

When he was back in his own room, with the door shut and locked, he set the jewelry box down on the bed beside Aya’s hip.  He reached out a hand and caressed Aya’s cock.  Aya shivered and opened his legs, thrust into Yoji hand.  Yoji petted the cock under his hand under Aya was whimpering and arching.  Then he flipped open the jewelry box with his other hand.  He dangled the tag over Aya’s skin, slid it all the way up to his neck, was grateful it had a clip, too, so he could fasten it to the collar one handed and keep stroking Aya with the other. 

The light gleamed on the polished brass.  It looked so lovely against Aya’s pearl-white skin, shone against the dusky collar and fantastic hair.  Property of Kudoh Yoji.  Reward if found.  Nice letters carved deep into the metal. 

“Mine,” Yoji said.  “Mine.”

Aya arched into his hand and came.  Yoji stroked him through the aftershocks and licked his hand absently.  Mmm.

Then Yoji stood and pulled off his own clothes.  He had Aya in his bed.  *Aya.*  Tied up and willing, covered in come, white skin shining against Yoji’s best black sheets.  Which, come to think of it, had not been on the bed when he’d gone to dinner earlier today, had they?  Well, well, well. 

Yes?”

“Yes,” Aya said. 

“Good,” Yoji murmured and set to work.  He was glad he’d made Aya come already—it made Aya’s usually tense-as-hell body more relaxed.  Yoji used liberal amounts of lube.  If anyone was going to be tight, it’d be Aya.  Yoji could tell Aya’d done this—or something like it—before, because he arched up onto Yoji’s fingers until Yoji got his sweet spot just right.  Yoji let him fuck himself on Yoji’s fingers for a while, stretching and spreading, until Yoji was afraid he’d come just from watching.  He needed to be inside Aya, right now, or die. 

He slathered lube on his cock—fuck that was cold—and slid Aya’s legs on his shoulders.  He positioned himself, watched Aya’s as he slid home.  Violet eyes widened, and Aya moaned, and that was it.  Yoji was thrusting and ramming hard and coming.  He collapsed onto Aya’s chest and laid there, out of breath.  Whoops.  He’d meant to take his time and enjoy things.  Or …something.  Brain gone.  He tucked his nose under Aya’s chin and slept. 

Eventually, he heard a long sigh.  “Ng,” Yoji said. 

“Yoji.”  A finger poked into his shoulder, hard. 

“Ow!”  Yoji raised his head.  “Go back to sleep.”

“Can’t.”  Aya scowled at him from two inches away.  The Fujimiya glare was a teensy bit more intense close up, oh yes. 

Yoji gazed on his lover.  Aya’s hair was all messy, from where he’d thrashed his head against the pillow.  Kind of cute, really.  The collar was still there, and the tag gleamed in the hollow of Aya’s throat.  Yoji leaned down and licked it.  Aya grabbed him by the hair and tugged.  “Yoji!”

“Mmm.”

“Yoji!”

Yoji scowled.  “What?”

“I’m sticky.”  Aya wrinkled his nose. 

“Yes,” Yoji said sleepily, and traced his fingers over the dried mess of Aya’s stomach.  Lovely.  The room reeked of sex.  And Aya.  He toyed with the collar.  And a bit of fresh leather. 

“Yoji!”  Aya poked his shoulder again.  “I’m sticky.  Untie me.”

Yoji blinked.  Aya, assassin extraordinaire, could most certainly have untied himself.  But he hadn’t. 

Yoji decided to push his luck all the way and unclipped the leash.  Aya squirmed in his lap, kissing him breathless, hands in his hair.  They fell back on the bed, Aya on top, and Yoji decided they’d need to have a nice long talk about how permanent this arrangement was—very, very permanent—but not until after they’d played just a bit more….

 


End file.
